This is an open letter to the spider that is living in our bathroom.
AKA Moisty (as you have now been dubbed by my husband)
You, my 8 legged foe, have taken up residence in our bathroom and have been there for quite some time now. I have tolerated this in spite of my arachnophobic nature and let you live. The day I saw you crawling on the floor near the linen closet, I could have called Sean to my aid and had you disposed of immediately, but I chose to just leave you be because I really do believe that your kind shouldn't die just because I'm not very fond of you and your scuttling ways. Also, your diminutive size was in your favour. If you had been any bigger then your "smaller then a dime" self, I would have let out a blood curdling chicken like noise and summoned the aid of my husband who would have introduced you to the tight squeeze of tissue while I huddled in a corner crying and asking through tears "Is it on me? I feel like it's on me!"
BUT I did not.
After your long trek from the floor to the wall to the sky light, you decided to live on the ceiling RIGHT ABOVE THE SHOWER and have been in and around there for a better part of 2 weeks. I have been tolerant of your web crawling and sneaking around the sky light behavior for a couple reasons. First, you look a little pathetic as you try to stay on your single strand of web. The moist air from the shower clearly disturbs the ball like state that you seem to enjoy. While the shower is running your are constantly struggling for an 8 foot hold but with dampness lurking around you on every side, you just can't do it. I can almost hear your wee squeaks of frustration as you slide up and down your invisible web pole and feeling a tad sorry for you, I let you continue to live there.
The second reason you remain a part of our bathroom is out of concern for our environment. I love a long hot shower. Water conservation isn't my strong suit I'm afraid. AND for the last 10 days my family has been away leaving the shower time wide open. However, thanks to you and your web crawling, leg kicking, creepy oozing ways, I've not lingered in the shower at all. It's been all about getting in, getting washed, keeping an eye on you and your whereabouts, and getting out. No extra has time has been spent enjoying the soothing water and thinking about what my next blog entry should be or pondering whether or not wine and popcorn for dinner 2 nights in a row would be a good or bad idea.
All was well...until this morning.
Listen "MOISTY" I thought this relationship of ours was working. You had found a safe place to live with no birds lurking or ants waiting to take you down (although what are YOU surviving on? Your will to live?) and I had found the key to being very water conscience. But NO! You had to almost ruin this bizarre co-dependent lifestyle we've created! During my shower this morning you journeyed from a position not quite above my head to a position directly above my head and for some reason you seemed to be having "extra trouble" keeping your single strand to a short length. I'm not going to lie to you, this made me nervous. So if you recall, I said "OK! The shower is yours! I surrender it to you!" I shut if off, did my drying thing on the far end of the tub and as I lifted up my head after wrapping my hair in my towel, there you were; dangling your wee brown self no more then a foot from my face! I managed to not hurt myself upon exiting the tub at lighting speed (which is why this entry is not "awesome") and screeched. And you just hung there, legs splayed, increasing your size to full on bluenose, twisting happily in the breeze left by my hasty departure. You seemed, dare I say it, smug Moisty. But smug is as smug does (whatever that means) so let this letter be a warning to you! My family is back tonight which means I will not be taking long showers anyway and if you dare repel down your gossamer thread to within an arms reach of my head, you will not be allowed to flee back up to your home near our sky light, but you will be flung rather rabidly to that big web in the sky.
Think on that my Arach-Nemesis,